I Am Not A Toy
by WickedisWicked
Summary: What happens when Mr. Bratt finds out someone tried to put the moves on his secretary, Smitty? What if Smitty herself wasn't too thrilled about it? MULTI-CHAP!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi! This is my first How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying fanfic! I hope you all enjoy. Now, I saw the play done by a community theatre group (that in my mind is quite amazing) so if the ages or appearances are off, I'm sorry, but I'm going to leave them like that as they are crucial to my story. This starts off a little weird, but it will end up as Smitty/Bratt, I swear. Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Smitty had had enough of the men at the World Wide Wicket company. She was tired of never being able to pick something up without having some strange man touch her in a way she didn't want, or simply leer. Most of all, Smitty wished she hadn't chosen today to wear her best dress.

…

It had all been a normal morning. She had shown up at exactly 8:07 AM, as she did every morning, and entered the shiny silver elevator at the end of the World Wide Wicket company's lobby. When she hear the ding, Smitty stepped inside and punched the button emblazoned with the number seven. She resumed the daydream she had every morning on the elevator, in which she and her boss, mister Bratt lived happily on an island. She sighed. If only it were that easy. Suddenly, a slightly nasally voice snapped her out of her reverie.

"Well, hello Smitty," the boss's nephew, Bud Frump greeted her with a look on his face that made the young woman's stomach turn. She was sure this wasn't going to end well. She started by standing on one side of the elevator, but he just came closer. Much closer than Smitty would have liked.

"That's miss Smith to you, mister Frump." She said in a tone that implied she wasn't to be messed with.

"Well, miss Smith," he said, giving the last two words more force. "Uncle J.B. has decided to let me pick my own secretary as I am now head of the mail room."

Smitty looked down at her dress and smoothed of some invisible lint. She knew exactly were this conversation was going.

"I want you as my secretary." Bud said, a slimy look on his face. Almost too fast for Smitty to notice, Bud forced his eager lips onto her unworldly ones.

Smitty, absolutely shocked that someone, even the boss's nephew who believed he could get away with murder, would do such a thing, quickly summoned all he force and pushed the idiotic man off. In the midst of her self defence, her dress tore a bit near her shoulder because of the quick movement. Bud stood there shocked for a moment. As the situation dawned on him, Smitty, quick as a flash, smacked him hard across the face. Bud, now red with anger, responded the only way he knew how. He slapped her back with all his might, which caused the poor woman to let out a small whimper of pain.

"I'm gonna tell my uncle what you did!" The spoiled young man declared.

The elevator doors slid open, allowing the passengers to disembark. Without a second glance, the pretty young secretary darted to the ladies room instead of her boss's office as she usually did. Today hadn't started off like any usual day.


	2. Chapter 2

Janice Smith was late. Smitty was never late. Once, she even showed up on time when her neighbour's bulldog got out and had attacked her. She had shown up with a horrible bite mark, but had waited until after her nine to five shift to go to the doctor's office. But today, for some unknown reason, she hadn't been at her desk at 8:30 as she had been everyday when mister Bratt walked in. This had been their routine ever since he was promoted to Personnel, and it hadn't differed in over three years. Mister Bratt was pacing his office worriedly. Where had happen to Smitty to keep her from the job she loved so dearly?

…

Smitty had just made her way into the cold bathroom without attracting too many stairs. Oh, there was the customary one from mister Gatch, the one he gave every woman in the entire company. And there was the one from Finch, Smitty couldn't make anything of that one. Finally, the was one from mister Twimble who had just been promoted out of the mail room.

Smitty gave herself a quick once over in the small bathroom mirror. Pieces of her blonde hair flying out from the confines of her elastic from being pushed against the elevator's wall, smeared lipstick from when that creep had forced his mouth on hers, and finally a bright red mark on her cheek from where Bud Frump's hand had made contact with her milky white skin.

"Smitty?" Smitty visibly jumped at the sound of her best friend Rosemary's voice. "What happened?" The brunette questioned. "Who did this to you?"

"Oh, hi Rosemary. Nothing happened," Smitty lied. "Nothing's wrong." She was trying to sound as natural as possible, but Rosemary could see right through her little charade.

"Smitty…" Rosemary started. She looked at Smitty with sad eyes.

"Rosemary," Smitty said, her voice firm as if she was trying to convince herself. "I'm fine."

"Then why is your hair pulled out of it's bun? Why is your lipstick smeared and why…" the young brown haired secretary in the pale pink dress was cut off.

"Fine. It was Bud. Bud Frump." She admitted, defeatedly. She moved over to the nearby pastel pink wall and leaned against it, her arms folded over her chest.

"Smitty," Rosemary looked worried. "Did he hurt you? What happened?"

With a sigh, Smitty spilled her guts about the whole elevator fiasco.

"Why haven't you reported him to mister Biggely?" Rosemary asked as she walked over towards her best friend. Smitty just looked at her as if she were crazy.

"You want me to report Bud Frump to his uncle? Really, Rosemary, have you not noticed the nepotism?" Smitty looked at her incredulously. Feeling like there wasn't any point in continuing this conversation, Smitty walked back to the tiny mirror she had been staring into before. She pulled her lipstick out of her purse and reapplied it as carefully as she could. Her hair was a lost cause though, as to really fix it she would need a brush or at least a fine comb.

"So you're just going to let him get away with it? What happened to the Smitty who had a spine? Who would want justice, not just let Bud Frump harass her and get away with it?" Rosemary said standing next to Smitty. The taller blonde secretary looked down.

"She grew up. Realised she couldn't do anything to help herself." She replied solemnly. She slipped her previously discarded glasses on to her fine, delicate nose, picked up her purse and walked towards her boss's office with her head held high. No one is going to see me look as weak as I feel, she vowed to herself.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I know I haven't gotten to the whole Smitty/mister Bratt pairing, but it's coming soon, I swear! Smitty breezed into mister Bratt's office, acting as normally as she could, considering the circumstances. But, even from his large wooden desk across the room, mister Bratt could tell something was wrong. Her silky white-blonde hair seemed unusually unkempt, and her ruby lipstick appeared smeared. Had it not been for the slight dark stains that graced her under eye, he would have assumed that she had had some sort of early morning rendezvous. But, he reminded himself, she could still have had some sort of early morning date. The questioned remained about the remnants of running mascara. Why had she been crying? Smitty looked up at him with a questioning glance. "Is there something the matter?" The secretary who strangely resembled a supermodel asked. To her, his gaze seemed to linger on her just a fraction of a second too long. Had someone told him what had happened? No, she decided. No one knew, herself, Rosemary and Bud Frump. And she knew that She hadn't told him, and Rosemary couldn't have as they had left the bathroom at the same time. That left Bud. Could her boss's boss's nephew really had told mister Bratt? Judging by the shade of red his face had turned, he had certainly looked mad enough to spit. But wouldn't mister Bratt had been the least bit angry? He seemed to be the only decent man in the whole company. Bud was also not exactly his favourite person either. Why would Bud have approached him? No, she decided. Her assailant couldn't have approached her boss about the mishap this morning. "No, nothing." The man replied. The way he had said it, just a little too quickly, had somehow made a sinking feeling creep into her stomach. "Are you okay?" He asked after a moment's pause, his voice gentle. Her boss walked out from around his oak desk to her much smaller one. She looked up at him from her rubber office chair, a neutral look plastered on her face. She had to act as normally as possible. "Why do you ask, mister Bratt?" He took a minute to look her over again; this time he notice something else. A tear in the silky teal-coloured fabric of his secretary's best dress. The last time he had seen a tear near the shoulder of one of Smitty's dresses was when she had tried to catch a pen her friend Rosemary had tossed at her. It had ripped because of her jerky movement. Also, this was her best dress. The one she wore to every company event to date and to her best friend Barbara's wedding. She would do anything to keep it out of harm's way. No way had she voluntarily made a quick movement. "Your dress is ripped," he pointed out as if her torn dress held the key. "And your lipstick is smudged, and your hair isn't immaculate as always, and, by the looks of your mascara, you've been crying." "I didn't wake up early enough this morning," she lied. "And my dress got caught on a branch this morning." An awkward silence hung between them, only broken by the tiny clatter Smitty's blue pen made as it his the grey-green linoleum tile floor. As she turned to pick it up, mister Bratt caught a glimpse of something that made his stomach turn and him want to cause pain whoever had had hurt Smitty. A small, red mark adorned the pale white cheek of his secretary's face. He quickly put two and two together. Someone had hit Smitty, and for it to leave such an impression, it must have been quite hard. One glance at mister Bratt's expression was enough to stop the young woman in her track as she started to sit up. "Who hit you?" Her boss asked, with a soft tone with an underlying tone of disgust. Disgust for who, she thought. Me or Bud? "Nobody, mister Bratt. Now can we please get back to work?" Smitty practically pleaded her last request. "Smitty…" he said as her gingerly reached out and turned her head sideways. "Please tell me who hit you." Smitty knew that as an independent woman she should have moved her head away, or ever removed her boss's hand from her face. But she couldn't bring herself to move away from the man she had secretly longed for for over three years. Just the felling of his slightly rough fingertips were enough to send butterflies flying through her stomach. Had it not been for the last sentence the handsome thirty-year-old man had uttered in such a sweet tone, she would never have told him who her attacker was. One more look of desperation from him caused Smitty to crack. "It was Bud," she said. "Bud Frump." Suddenly, her semesters came to her. "But I'm fine, really… I mean I did hit him first." Sheepishness was written all over her face. Though she hated the man, getting him in trouble would only cause her to be fired. Or, worse, mister Bratt fired if he went and tried to defend her honour. Which, she reminded herself, he didn't have to do. It wasn't like they were dating. The warm ness of his calloused hand suddenly left her face. "That little…" he started. He trailed off quickly, though, once he remembered he was in the presence of a lady. And, that that lady happened to be his beautiful, kind and caring young secretary. He suddenly acted as if the last part of her sentence had justice sense in his mind. "Why did you hit him?" Suddenly feeling as though she were a deer caught in the headlights, she quickly attempted to change the subject. "Isn't there any work to do, mister Bratt?" She asked with a tone that indicated he should not press any further. Ignoring her he continued his inquiry. "Why did you hit him?" He asked again, a slight ferocity creeping into his concerned voice. By the way she avoided his question he knew it wasn't anything she wished to recount. "Nothing," she insisted and she crossed her arms over her beautiful dress. "Tell me!" Mister Bratt yelled, as he planted both of his hands on her desk. Once he noticed her back up just slightly at his volume, he added a pleading, "please." Had it not been for the please Smitty would have tried to change the subject again; but that one little word made the man of her dreams seem so caring, she felt she owed him an explanation. "He kissed me." She said simply. Smitty thought the look mister Bratt had on only minutes ago was the angriest he had. Boy, was she ever wrong. Slowly, though, his face changed into that of concern yet again. "Are you okay?" He asked again, this time hoping for a more honest answer. "Please," the young woman said desperately. "Can we please just go back to…" She never did get to finish her sentence, though, as she was overtaken by sobs. With pith thinking, her boss came around her desk, coaxed her to stand, and wrapped his arms around her. She sobbed quietly into his shoulder. "I'm not weak… I'm not weak." She sobbed over and over again. She wasn't sure if she was trying to convince herself or mister Bratt, though. Mister Bratt smoothed her hair, and, though he knew he shouldn't, he could help but realise how beautiful she looked, even when she was upset. "Of course you're not." 


End file.
